


Not Like This.

by mattgoodbaby



Category: Black Veil Brides
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Methamphetamine, Overdose, triggering?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattgoodbaby/pseuds/mattgoodbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashley's not been in been with the times for a while now, and Andy's concerned. As he pulls further away from reality, who will be there to help? Methfic - inspired by Andy's Montana Meth ad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like This.

"Ashley, you look awful."

I stalked past, dumping a stack of plates in the sink and turned the tap on.

"Thanks, you're not exactly so fabulous yourself."

Andy knocked my elbow gently and I flinched, batting his hand away, slightly harder than I'd intended. Andy's concerned expression fell along with his coffee.

The cup hit the floor and shattered. I wriggled my bare toes and resisted the sudden urge to walk across the white shards. 

"Ash?"  
I let out a huff, stepping over the worst of the mess. No doubt there would be bits of mug stuck in my foot later on. 

"What?"

"I-" He caught my wrist as I made a start for the door. I turned around and yanked my arm free.

" _What?!_ " 

Andy didn't say anything, just twisted his mouth thoughtfully. He shrugged. 

"Nothing." 

* * *

"Ash, are you going out tonight?" 

I looked up at Andy from my bed. The covers had been shoved to the foot of the bare mattress in my fitful sleep, and I hadn't even dressed. Or undressed, for that matter. 

"No." 

He wrinkled his nose, eyeing up the window. 

"Maybe you could clean up in here instead." 

He looked so out of place in this room, in his brand new jeans and a clean shirt. Clean hair – he'd cropped it short, much to everyone's dismay, but he still looked handsome. 

In comparison, I'd had these sweats on for five days now – they'd gone baggy at the knees. 

Not that you'd notice, I was never standing up. 

The room was a tip; there was blood on the mattress, torn up clothes on the floor, torn up sheets, anything I could fit in my mouth had been gnawed to shreds. 

Andy winced, gesturing vaguely at the state that lay cross legged on the bed. 

"At least shower Ash." 

I wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer, even though I knew my hair hung in greasy tendrils around my ears, and I probably stank of death. 

Andy took a tentative step forward and a breath like he was going to say something, but after a moment he just closed his mouth and fell down on his heels. 

"I'll see you later then," he muttered, then turned and left. 

* * *

I waited until I was certain Andy had left before reaching under my pillow to pull out the dime bag of rock I'd been harbouring for about two hours. 

He didn't need to see this. 

I was going to use my lighter, but the cooker was faster, and Andy was out – with Juliet. 

He wouldn't be home for a while. 

I grabbed the bag, and almost sprinted through to the kitchen. 

Well, I would've if I didn't think I'd throw up if I moved at more than a snail crawl. 

I rattled through all the drawers as I passed, forgetting in my stress where the fucking spoons were kept.

Finally coming across the weird little measuring spoons Andy had bought and never used, I tipped a roughly estimated amount of rock into the biggest one and flipped the cooker onto the highest flame. There were still little white granules scattered all over the countertop but I could clean that up later – it's not like Andy would know what it was anyway. 

The meth trembled as it began to heat up and I slammed open the cupboard under the sink, pulling out everything in my way until I came to a pack of needles right at the back. I knew I'd use them all if they were in my room. This was my special stash. Expensive occasions. The rock was fucking potent, to match its price.

I tore the packaging off the first one and gave it an obligatory draw of air before pushing it all back out and crossed to the cooker again. My guts ached, and my stomach twisted as cold sweat beaded on my forehead. 

The meth was barely done before I had dragged it up into the needle. It was too hot, it wasn't ready, I wasn't ready, I shouldn't be doing this in the kitchen – I'd left a mess, what if I passed out and Andy got home? But I wasn't thinking, I couldn't think, I was sweating and hurting, and I slapped my arm, not even waiting for the vein to show up before I forced the needle through my skin, before I bit down and tasted blood in my mouth. My throat burned with the taste of bleach and I coughed dryly before retching, falling back against the table. I was going to – shit, I was – I curled up on my knees as I heaved, thank god I hadn't eaten, it was only bile. 

I lay for another moment, gasping through my wet mouth and trying to control my convulsing body. Waiting for the rush. 

It was late though, I panicked, it wasn't – it wasn't – enough, it wasn't enough. I pushed myself away from the floor, grabbing onto the edge of the table. I couldn't get a grip though, and something fell, something smashed. I couldn't see, it was too – too fucking much, I couldn't breathe. I was lying, I was crumpled and torn and I had to spit out more bile – what had gone wrong? What was so different? 

Things went dim for a moment and when I was aware of the kitchen again, conscious of my fucking mess of a body pressed hard to the floor, that was a needle against my stomach, glass under my skin, knives behind my eyes. 

I didn't know the time, but it was getting dark. Andy wasn't home. There was a fucking meth spoon on the countertop. 

Motivated by my sudden fear of Andy finding me like this, I struggled into a sitting position, trying desperately not to gag.

Okay.

The dim light of sunset suggested the time was about nine.

Okay.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to stand up. 

I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't managed it. I wish I had stayed on the floor. I could've crawled back to bed, I could've lied, and said I invited someone round. Someone who couldn't hang on any longer. Someone who shot up and ran away like a coward.

But I stood up, and I picked up the needle, and I looked at the spoon on the countertop. It was only half empty. It was fucking strong, and it was half empty, and I felt that ache – that groan in my muscles, the itch that I couldn't ignore. 

I wish I'd gone back to bed. I wish I'd let Andy find out by finding my needles. I wish I'd let Andy find out by finding my spoons. I wish I'd let Andy find out by finding the meth under my pillow. 

I didn't want him to find out like this. 

I didn't want him to find out by finding me. 

I didn't want him to find out like this.


End file.
